The Price Of Justice

Chapter Two

    I parked my cruiser outside the police station. A long sigh escaped my throat as I pulled my shoulders back. Xander had given me the responsibility of arresting and questioning Simpson. How ironic. I would be the one to have to confront and then lead away my best friend in handcuffs. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of the man I had spent countless hours with... on and off the clock... being guilty of not just one but two counts of first-degree murder.

     If I hadn't watched him commit the crimes myself I might not have believed that he was capable of such a thing. But I'd seen him kill those men with my own two eyes. There was simply no way around it, Henry was a murderer. And I was responsible for ensuring he paid the price for his actions. This might just be the worst assignment I had ever had to follow through on.

     Several minutes later, I walked through the front door of the PD. "Hey, Taylor." One of her co-workers nodded toward me. I forced a faint smile.
 
    "Hi, Blake."
 
     Blake immediately noticed something was wrong. I generally had a upbeat attitude, I always tried to keep everyone smiling and make a total stranger feel right at home. But tonight, I knew I was being quieter than usual and the expression I wore stated clearly that something was gnawing at my mind. "What's going on?"

    I shook my head. "Just a assignment I have to take care of before I clock out." My eyes scanned over the interior of the room. "Do you know where Simpson is, by any chance?"

    The policewoman nodded. "I think he's in the breakroom, why?"

     I shrugged. "I just need to talk to him. I'll see you on Monday."

     "See you then." Blake smiled and stepped into the bitter early morning air.
    
     I walked down the hallway. I hesitated briefly at the door of the breakroom, dread welling up in my chest. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew I couldn't let anyone, regardless of how fond I was of them, get away with murder. I had to do this, no matter how much it hurt. I pushed against the solid wooden door.

     Simpson was sitting at the table positioned in the middle of the room, sipping a cup of coffee. He glanced up as the door slammed shut behind me. A smile spread across his face. "Hey, Taylor."

      "Hi, Simpson." I sat down opposite him.

     "Long night?" He asked.

     I nodded. "Yes. Two prisoners were killed at the city jail in their cells. The boy I brought in a couple of days ago and the man Grayson and I brought in yesterday morning." I paused briefly, then continued, growing more uncomfortable with every passing minute. "They were killed with poison darts."

    A cloud passed over Simpson's eyes for an instant, but it faded before I got the opportunity to read it. Fear, perhaps? Of what? Did he know what I was leading up to? He shifted in his seat, his body going rigid. "What? How in the world did their killer get his hands on poison darts?"

      "How did you know they were murdered by a male?"

        I noticed his pupils widened, and he tightened his grip on the coffee cup. "I..... I didn't. I guess I just assumed so. Who's handling the case?"

       "I am."

     At this, he sat upright. "You are? Have you started the investigation yet?"

     "Yes, I have. I found a few interesting facts, actually."

     Silence. His body grew tense.

     "Forensics took the darts to check for fingerprints, but I doubt they'll find anything."

     "Why would you say that?" Simpson's gaze darted between me and the door. He sat up straighter, ready to spring out of his seat in a heartbeat. I noticed his right hand slip out of sight, no doubt to rest on his gun. My left hand hung limp beside my own side arm, ready at any given second to pull and open fire.